


Truth or Dare

by Zoe_Nightshade_Rules



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Use, F/F, Hopefully Fluff?, Hospitals, Major Character Injury, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoe_Nightshade_Rules/pseuds/Zoe_Nightshade_Rules
Summary: “Oh, thank the gods, somebody else is here. Okay, strange lady, I need your help with something. You can’t say no. Okay? Ok. So somebody stole my feet and hands. You see, I need my feet to walk, and I don’t exactly know what I need my hands for, but I need them. So I’m gonna find the person who took my hands and feet, take them back and steal their hands and feet. You following?”
Relationships: Artemis/Zoë Nightshade (Percy Jackson)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Truth or Dare

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, so, I'm not exactly sure what this is. I've never written something that follows one person's thoughts the entire time and I'm not sure if I like it or not. You guys have to tell me what you think. Anyway, this is unbeta'd, so forgive me for any mistakes.

It was quiet and pleasant in the hospital room, Zoë is half-conscious buried under what seems like a mountain of blankets and swimming through a hazy cloud of drugs. 

Her eyelids are heavy and it is like a hundred fucking tons were weighing down them, nevertheless, Zoë fights valiantly to open them. If she knew where her hands are, she’d use her fingers to pry them open. Key phrase, if she knew where her hands were, Zoë was fairly certain that she doesn’t have them anymore. Well. Shit. She doesn’t have her hands anymore. Fuck. Zoë feels tears well up behind those stupid,  _ stupid _ eyelids. Her stupid eyelids that she can’t open because somebody put tiny weights on them, who would do that? And  _ why  _ do they have miniature weights that weigh 10 million tons! This sucks. She can’t open her eyes and somebody has taken her hands. In fact, she can’t feel her feet either. Did somebody take those too? Dammit, she needs those. She needs her hands and her feet to, to, to do things that people use their hands and feet for! After she figures out how to get these damned weights off her eyes, she’ll find whoever took her feet and hands and take their hands and feet. Zoë doesn’t know what she’ll do with their hands and feet, but that wasn’t the point. Maybe she’d hang them on her wall? No that would be gross, she’d wrap them up, lock them in a chest, swallow the key and toss it in the ocean. Good luck getting those back, foot and hand stealer. Stop, Zoë, you're getting off-topic.

Instead of focusing on her missing appendages and those stupid eyelids that just wouldn’t open, she tries to focus on what else she could do. Well, she can breathe. That was a plus, at least she isn’t dead, although every big inhale does send a sharp pain through her midsection. That isn’t a plus, in fact, it is a very big negative, a very big and painful negative. And she is fairly certain the uncomfortable throbbing resonating through her body is her heartbeat. Another plus, if somebody asks, though she doubts anybody would, Zoë could confidently say that she is not a vampire. She can hear the faint hum of an AC, the sound of paper moving every few minutes and the ticking of a clock. She figures she can do nothing with that information and instead focuses on opening her eyes again. She’s super strong - at least she thinks she is, thinking and sticking to that thought is turning out to be a struggle. She doesn’t know why. Zoë distinctly remembers being really smart and put together. Maybe? Ok, she doesn’t know, but she has a  _ feeling _ . Back on track Zoë.

Zoë keeps trying to open her eyes, trying all the tricks that she can think of. Which is only three, but finding coherent idea’s in her muddled brain is like finding a needle in a, in a, shit she forgot the rest of the saying. She rolls her eyes up into her head, hoping that if she rolls them far enough her eyes would peep open. It doesn’t work, only worsens a headache that she didn’t realize she has until now. Next, she tries to scrunch her face up, wrinkling her nose and pulling her eyebrows down, in an attempt to make the tiny weights fall off her eyelids. The tiny weights fall away from their place on her eyes, rolling onto the bed beside her and leaving imprints on the mattress underneath her body. With the weight lifts from her eyes leaving them blissfully light and easy to open. She sees nothing. She sees nothing because she imagines it. Zoë doesn’t hear the thuds of the weights falling to the bed underneath her - at least she thinks its a bed, she’s not certain - and because the stupid, heavy, did she mention stupid, weights didn’t fall off, she can’t open her eyes. 

Zoë uses her final idea. She swears to any and all deities that if this works, she’ll forever be in their debt. She just  _ really  _ wants to open her eyes. Zoë raises her eyebrows as high as she can, and she sees a sliver of light! She tries to raise her eyebrows more, and even though she doesn’t know her eyebrows aren’t rising her eyes are still opening! They’re open, she can see, they’re open and she can see. Holy shit, she can see! Those tears that have been slowly building up behind her lids slip down her face, but instead of tears of frustration, they’ve turned to tears of joy. Zoë beams and lets the few tears drip down her face and onto the pillow. And it is a pillow! She can tell because she can see! She can see the dreary white ceilings that she can stare at in boredom! She can see the white of her blanket and the white walls and the white room. Wow, not a very interesting room. But she can see, so she doesn’t put much thought into it. Here she was thinking that she’d lost her eyes too, she was so close to concluding that she’d never see again, like she’d concluded she'll never walk again. Oh god, she forgot her feet were missing. And her hands!

Zoë's smile turns into a frown and her eyes get watery again, except this time they leave right away. Damn tears. She sniffles, feeling her nose fill up with snot all because she can’t keep her emotions in check. Stupid emotions. The paper stops turning.

“Zoë?” a feminine voice calls from Zoë right. 

Zoë's head turns to the direction of the voice, and sitting there, on one of those awful hospital chairs. It’s made out of wood and has a navy blue cushion on it, it’s one of those cushions that looks really fluffy but actually makes your butt want to cry. Zoë takes in the woman, she’s short and has reddish-brown hair that falls a few inches below her shoulders. She’s wearing a big comfy looking grey sweatshirt with words that are so faded she can’t read them. Zoë recognizes the sweatshirt for some reason and her brain is telling her one thing: mine. Zoë is unsure what exactly hers, it could be the book that is in the pale women's hands, the glasses perched on her small nose, or the sweatshirt that the woman is wearing. Maybe it’s the chair she’s sitting on? The woman is looking at her with shock and worry and she seems frozen in place. 

Zoë doesn’t remember her brain telling her to open her mouth, but suddenly words are spilling out of it, “Oh, thank the gods, somebody else is here. Okay, strange lady, I need your help with something. You can’t say no. Okay? Ok. So somebody stole my feet and hands. You see, I need my feet to walk, and I don’t exactly know what I need my hands for, but I need them. So I’m gonna find the person who took my hands and feet, take them back and steal their hands and feet. You following?”

The girl has her mouth hidden behind her hand and her eyes sparkle with amusement. Not that ZoeZoëwas paying attention to her eyes. No, that's weird. But Zoë finds herself filled with happiness and her brain tells her to keep making the other girl laugh and smile and be happy - despite the fact that the beautiful girl was hiding it. The mystery girl nods.

“Great. Where was I? Oh. Yeah, we’re gonna steal their hands and feet as revenge. Then we’re going to wrap their stolen appendages up. Nobody wants to see random hands and feet that’s gross. And then we’re going to lock them in a box and swallow the key. Finally, we’ll toss the box in the sea, where the appendage stealer will never find them,” Zoë rambles, only stopping to take rapid breaths before continuing with her plan. 

Zoë looks expectantly at the other girl, breathes coming in and out in little pants as she tries to gain control over her breathing again. It was stupid to talk so fast with so little pauses to fill her lungs again, she needs oxygen to survive. Not to mention that if she breathes in any way other than shallow pants, her ribs hurt. 

“Nobodies took your hand or your feet Zoë,” the mystery woman tells her, folding the corner of her page and sliding it on the coffee table next to her. 

“Yes. Somebody has. I can’t feel them, so they’re not there,” Zoë argues, watching the mysterious women suspiciously. Now that she thinks about it, she could be the one who stole her hands and feet. Give them back, you beautiful, evil lady.

The stealer moves next to Zoë's bed and reaches down to her. Zoë is just about to tell her that she’s figured the lady out and she will not let her take any more of her appendages when the evil girl pulls the covers back and reveals Zoë's body to her. And would you look at that, her hands are relaxed against the mattress and her feet are pointing at the sky like always. Zoë scowls at the deceiving limbs. How dare they let her make a fool of herself in front of the pretty lady. Said lady puts the blankets back on Zoë, folding them just above her waist so her arms are still free.

“I knew that,” Zoë huffs, crossing her newly discovered arms - and hands - across her chest. 

“Of course,” the not-evil girl agrees, returning to her perch on the chair, only now she moves the chair a few feet closer and doesn’t resume her reading.

Zoë goes back to studying the woman, but now at a closer angle. The woman does the same, lazily flicking her eyes around her face. It turns out the lady has grey eyes that almost appear silver if the light hits it  _ just  _ right. Zoë finds it fascinating. That’s when Zoë is reminded of two things, one: she doesn’t know the lady, and two: it’s not polite to stare. Zoë immediately averts her eyes and focuses on the now very interesting wall directly behind the lady.

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Zoë asks, meeting the woman’s surprised eyes for a second before focusing on the floor.

“You don’t remember me?”

“Well, no, otherwise I wouldn’t be asking,” Zoë rolls her eyes. Why else would she ask, if she knows the mysterious lady why would she ask? Besides, how would she forget such a beautiful person? Zoe is absolutely certain she’s never met this person before. 

“Oh,” The soon-to-be-known lady pauses as if to gather her wits; Zoë thinks she’s doing it for dramatic effects, “I’m Artemis.”

Zoë nods, turning away from Artemis and instead focuses on the ceiling. She tests the name out a few times, it comes out of her mouth easily as if she’s said it a million times. The two girls fall into silence and Zoe tries to count the little dots on the ceiling. After having to restart for the tenth time she stops counting and looks for animals instead. At some point, Artemis must have grabbed her book again because the pages turning in her book occasionally joins the symphony of the tick-tock of the clock, the steady hum of the air conditioner, the annoying buzz-buzz of the fly that’s flying near the door, and the steady thrum of her heartbeat. 

Zoë must’ve fallen asleep after a while because suddenly she’s opening her eyes again the fly is gone and Artemis is significantly further along in her book than before. Zoë turns on her side, wincing as pain flares up in her body and everything throbs along with her heartbeat. Luckily, her heartbeat didn’t disappear with the fly. She remains still until the pain turns to a dull roar.

“I love sleepovers,” Zoë tells Artemis, whispering it like it’s a dangerous secret. A sleepover is the only logical explanation for why she is here. She’s in Artemis’ room, which is why Artemis is wearing the equivalent to pajama’s and Zoë is lying in a bed. Zoë doesn’t have an explanation as to why her body hurts and why she can’t remember things very well. Those are things she’ll focus on later, when she’s not at a sleepover with a pretty lady. 

Artemis looks up in confusion before sighing like the confession isn’t worth her time, which, by the way, rude. Artemis closes her book again and says, “this isn’t a sleepover, you’re in a hospital.

“Then why do I have this nightgown?” Zoë asks smugly, like she just outsmarted Artemis. She pulls at the uncomfortable nightdress for emphasis. She isn’t sure why she would ever bring such uncomfortable sleep clothes to a sleepover, but, who knows maybe past Zoë is a wackjob. Either way, she wouldn’t be at a hospital because she doesn’t have any wounds. Sure she has a cast around her arm, that doesn’t mean she’s at the hospital. And yea, maybe when she looked at her legs they seemed to be shaking from pain and maybe both her legs are wrapped in bandages with blood staining them reddish-brown, she probably just tripped. She thinks she could be clumsy. No, she doesn’t. But that is not the point!

“That’s a hospital gown.”

“Truth or Dare,” Zoë says hotly. Okay, so maybe she’s in a hospital, she would’ve figured that out if she was given enough time. She’s not sure  _ why  _ she is in a hospital, other than her legs and her arms, which really, seem like minor injuries. But, if she’s in a hospital, she might as well have fun with it. Yea! Just because she’s in the hospital doesn’t mean she can’t half a sleepover with the random lady who’s name is Artemis.

Artemis stares unbelievingly at Zoë.

Zoë stares back, silently triple-dog-daring her to play with her. If she's going to be stuck here, she’s going to keep Artemis with her, even though they’ve only known each other for a few minutes, hours?

“Dare,” Artemis mumbles quietly, Zoë smiles victoriously.

**Author's Note:**

> What'd you think? I was planning on making the little story one full post, but I couldn't think of any good truths or dares that wouldn't harm or embarrass either party. And if you guys haven't figured it out yet, Zoe has a lot of injuries and the reason she's acting so weird is that she is REALLY high. Zoe known injuries in this chapter are, rib injuries, an arm injury, legs injury and she has some type of concussion that is affecting her memory. The reason Artemis isn't freaking out very much is because Zoe been asleep (or drifting in and out of consciousness) for a couple of days and Artemis isn't exactly sure how to deal with the worry, so if she comes off as a little cold, that's why. I'm hoping to come out with a small thing about how Zoe ended up in the hospital but I can't make any promises, I suck at keeping them. 
> 
> Anyway, comments and kudos are appreciated. I love to read what your guys think and if you guys like or don't like it. I hope you all have wonderful days!


End file.
